Molly paces the small, dimly lit room, the stale smell of day-old pepperoni pizza hanging heavy in the air. She stops in front of the cluttered table where the target—a suburban split-level on a grainy Google Street View screenshot—is pinned to the wall. Her red fingernail traces the hypothetical pathway from the driveway to the sliding glass door, drawing a jagged line through the hydrangeas. "The perimeter is suicide, Bill," she says, not turning around. Bill is seated on a folding chair, staring intensely at a spreadsheet on his phone. "It's the loot, Molly. We’re talking plastic. Shiny, well-packaged plastic. The kids’ party demographic doesn't know the value of a solid copper construction set versus a bag of cheap batteries." "It’s a sugar trap," she counters, grabbing a black marker. "It’s a distraction. They know who we are. They've been waiting for us in the comfort zone. If we fall for the balloons, we lose our edge." "They're just kids, Molly. They have trouble tying their own shoes, let alone forming a syndicate to repel boarders." Bill stands up, stretching his knees with a loud pop. "I’ve mapped the route. The playset is a labyrinth. If we get caught in the ball pit, we’re dead meat." "Just stay behind me." She scribbles over the back door, crossing it out with a bold stroke. "The tunnel to the kitchen is claustrophobic. The slides are a dead end. The monkey bars are too exposed. We're going in through the hedge." "And the security?" Bill asks, biting his lip. "You mentioned a pitfall on the map." "The backyard is guarded by a beast of terrifying power," she explains with mock seriousness, leaning in close. "A Golden Retriever. I looked up the breed on the Dog Encyclopedia app. They are relentless, Bill. Once they latch onto your pant leg, you are done for." Bill shudders visibly, gripping the arm of the chair. "We could use a distraction. A squeaky toy. Maybe a bag of catnip to lure the beast out?" "Good idea," she nods approvingly, grabbing her duffel bag. "Grab the supplies from the trunk. If we’re going to rob a nursery, we need the right bait." She checks her watch, a grim smile forming. "Three minutes to prep. We're going in."